


Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes

by Zoya1416



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: AU Never Duv Galeni, Alternate History, Always David Galen, F/M, Families of Choice, No Solstice Massacre, Solstice Massacre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 21:31:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8417593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoya1416/pseuds/Zoya1416
Summary: All history is personal history. An AU where David Galen never becomes Duv Galeni.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [kateydidnt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kateydidnt/pseuds/kateydidnt) in the [Bujold_Ficathon_2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Bujold_Ficathon_2016) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>   
> 
> Aral's Political Officer never ordered the Solstice Massacre (or was stopped in some manner), the transition of Komarr to a Barrayaran polity was completely peaceful.
> 
> What happens to history then?

“You have to start out somewhere in the business, that's what our family does.”

“But I don't want to work in the shipping industry, Father.”

“It's the family business. it's not like you'd be inspecting warehouses all day every day.”

David had marshaled his arguments carefully, skillfully for a seventeen year old, he thought.

“I want to go to Solstice University and intern with Aunt Rebecca. It's politics I love, not shipping. Isn't politics part of the business, too? Mother was running for District Administrator when she—”

“Don't mention Amika.”

“I was just saying that she was interested in politics, too, before—”  
Ser Galen's hard hand slapped David's cheek. “I said not to mention her.”

Right, thought David, don't mention the woman who was on the verge of making more of herself than just being a hostess to his father's business guests, chattering, inconsequential, but beautiful, in that blonde zaftig way.

Who was on the verge of leaving his father, although no one talked about it, and would have taken David with her when she won the Administrator race. Who had died in an unfortunate accident during the inspection of a warehouse her husband had asked her to check. No one could have predicted that the random catwalk she took to the warehouse supervisor's office would crack, then break, tumbling her three stories to her death, along with the death of an assistant supervisor and a clerk who were on the catwalk with her. The incident had been studied by every local, regional, and district authority who could lay claims to it, as well as separate representatives from both the dead employee's guilds. The conclusion was, all declared, random metal strain. There had been lawsuits by the supervisor's and the clerk's families, as well, which could prove no deliberate hand in the deaths. Lawyers for business rivals had lain awake at night, slavering at how they could prove this was murder, and bring Ser Galen down. 

David had studied this accident for years, secretly, and could find no way to blame his father for it. How could he have rigged every catwalk in the warehouse? Or was there some subliminal way she'd been influenced to take that walk?

His father was the scion and chief representative of a business which made mega-millions of dollars of profit, employed over three thousand worker in four domes, and had immense leverage over the entire transhipping industry. Their family had transhipped goods on a trade sale voyage which was second only to the Golden Hind in its return on the dollar. Sixty to one profits had made many investors gloriously rich.

And yet—and yet, he knew how paranoid his father could be, seeing conspiracies where there were none, keeping as close control on his family as possible. His sister had been married into the Lindsier family of warehouse transhippers, and was apparently happy, even though this was an arranged marriage. 

So—his mother had died when he was fourteen, and David had spent the last three years planning to follow the career his aunt had taken, and the one his mother would have, barring that still-so-convenient accident. He pulled himself up sharply. He wasn't going to be like his father, seeing conspirators around every corner.

Aunt Rebecca would have taken him to live with her if she could have, sparing her brother-in-law the expenses of David's education, but she was too skilled to oppose him directly. He could in theory work while in school, but his father's influence was so strong that he'd be lucky to get to sweep a floor. 

Which left—a crazy idea he'd had, from time to time.

Aunt Rebecca had mentioned over and over again how impressed she was when Admiral Aral Vorkosigan visited the assembled delegates in the gymnasium, the day of Komarr's surrender.

“I was scared that day—I don't know why—but it seemed that some kind of pressure was going on, some deal being cut, from their side. It was a surreal day, because the admiral was surrounded by dozens of black-clad soliders who looked ready to shoot us, but they were—chained by the admiral's commands. He was gracious, he offered concessions to those who would help Komarrans betray their people—and yet, when he talked, he made these things seem possible, seem like something you'd want to do. 

“He made our conquest seem—as amicable as possible.He promised us full rights, which hasn't happened yet, but our Senate has a lot of leeway in self-governance.”

If he got himself to Barrayar (and he had enough savings to do this) he would be far enough out of his father's reaches for a little while. Admiral Vorkosigan—former Regent Vorkosigan—he wanted Komarrans to come to Barrayar to help unite the two worlds. There were scholarships available in many universities in the capitol of Vorbarr Sultana—surely some must equal one of Komarr's higher educational level. He would apply for them. Once there, he'd find a way to study Aral Vorkosigan—soldier, regent, statesman.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Ten years down the road came the announcement that the Barrayaran Military Academy would be opening to Komarrans for the first time. He was tempted—crazy idea though that was. He had finished university in three years and his doctorate in five, and was now an assistant professor in history in the Vorschuster District University. This year he would teach a course about Count Admiral Vorkosigan, his life-long obsession. More importantly, he'd finally reconciled with his father, on the birth of his first child, a girl. When he'd gotten married, to a sharp Vorschuster girl in law school in Vorbarr Sultana, Ser Galen was apparently cold to the idea that David would pick a girl with light brown hair, blue eyes, and a cuddly figure. 

But his first grandchild brought Ser Galen more joy than David thought possible. He sent presents, many more than the child could play with, set up a university fund in her name, actually _gave her trade shares_ for her first birthday. It was a one-hundredth of a share, mind you, but there were many on Komarr who had less. 

David was now at the Emperor Ezar spaceport, one which the next district count had won the rights to, not that Greta Vorschuster-Galen would admit to being jealous about. It was, he thought ironically, his working wife's money which had bought Ser Galen the tickets (not that he needed them, the miser, although it was a nice gesture.)

She'd even been able to wrangle an express custom check-in for her father-in-law, and so he met his father again in a small neat lounge.

“Father.”

“David. You didn't bring—Amika—with you.”

“Sir, she is only three, easily bored, and when she's bored—everyone knows it.”

“Perhaps you should beat her out of it.”

It was lightly said, and yet the differences—Ser Galen had beaten him, and he'd survived. 

“We did make a new vid for you, for the trip to our house.”

A better house than a novice professor would have been able to buy. Her family, a family of lawyers, professors, doctors—even a few popular writers—in some cases all four in one—had rejoiced that she was happy in her marriage and given it to them. Possibly they thought she was getting too old to be easily married, at 26, but still.  


He swept his new silver groundcar around a row of Italian cypresses, grown as privacy screens from their equally large neighbors' houses. The District air was warm and dry and breezes puffed small clouds through the air. He'd never imagined owning such a large house, two stories tall, wide enough for his library and study—and for her library and study as well, of course. Even Amika's room had a row of books, the chewed-on ones giving way to sturdier reading material.

David looked at his father who'd grown paler by the minute, and who was now clenching his teeth. Right, the open air—a phobia he'd grown out of in his second semester of college. He quickly pulled around to the attached garage. 

“They're waiting for you, sir. Should I tell them to back off and let you rest for a bit?”

Ser Galen finally smiled, color returning to his cheeks in the enclosed space.

“No. I've come so far to meet them” (Yes, indeed, thought his son, quite far.) “that I don't want to wait another minute.

“Great! Amika will want you to try her brilberry cookies. It's the first recipe she's learned, though of course Greta did most of the work, and I hope you enjoy them.”

“I'm sure I will. David”—he bent over and touched his dry lips to David' s cheek.

“I'm so happy for you. Never did say it, never seemed a way to say it that didn't seem—like I was—that I—(had been wrong all these years? thought David. His father had never apologized for cutting him off without a penny a decade ago.)

“Anyway—only going to say it once, mind you—I love you. I'm so proud of what you've done with your life and, and, and with your family.”

The house door opened quickly and a little girl squealed, “Mommy! Grandfather Galen!” 

Ser Galen opened the groundcar door, walking quickly. David saw his father brace himself, squeezing his eyes shut once and then he said, “Amika! I am so glad to meet you.”

**Author's Note:**

> My lovely beta, ana, asked me whether the Massacre not happening meant that Mark would never have been created. I don't think he would have been.
> 
> I see Ser Galen as still bitter, hating Barrayarans, cheating them as much as possible, and being very vocal in his opinions. I think Rebecca Galen listens to him patiently, and at times keeps him from going off the rails.
> 
> No Mark means several canon books wouldn't have been written, but that's not my fault :-)


End file.
